


you don't control love

by 99izm



Category: Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fluff, Half-Lycanthrope! Woojin, M/M, Magic, Platonic! Winkhwi, Self-Hatred, Siren! Jihoon, Siren! Seongwoo, Witch! Daehwi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:16:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99izm/pseuds/99izm
Summary: Magic is alive, in the forms of neon pink sparkles and vague chimes. Jihoon hates who he is, and it takes him a Park Woojin to take the leap of faith forward, to learn how to accept himself for who he is.





	you don't control love

**Author's Note:**

> Not my best work, but I hope you enjoyed this universe as much I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thank you to [Tiff](http://archiveofourown.org/users/parknpeach/pseuds/parknpeach) for helping me look through this!

It’s easy to make coffee after you’ve worked long and hard to perfect the art, Jihoon learns.

First, he grinds the coffee beans in the machine. It’s important that the beans he uses are the  _ right  _ ones. Different beans give different textures and different flavours when they are blended. It’s amusing though, when pretentious customers walk into the café, make a fancy order, but stumble at their words when Jihoon asks what beans they would like to have.

Next, he presses the ground beans together. Makes sure that it’s pressed tightly, so that the coffee machine will do its work. It’s always a wonder to see the way the ground beans melt into liquid. It almost feels like it’s magic, but Jihoon doesn’t see the enchantment, the sparkles—and it’s science right there.

According to the customer’s order, he adds water or hot milk to the espresso shot. It’s nice to see people attempt to drink black coffee for the first time, and then wince at the bitterness. If they do come back a next time, he’d advise them to get a latte instead.

He then pours the drink into a cup or mug and hands it over to the customer with a smile. That’s it.

At places like these, there are only two types of people: people who come and go, and people who stay. Jihoon likes to classify their customers into these two groups. He has been crowned “Worker of the Month” ever since he started working here. Jisung-hyung, the cafe’s manager, is pleased with the rise in their sales, but Jihoon swallows the lump that’s forming at the base of his throat. What Jisung-hyung doesn’t know, should stay hidden, and Jihoon plans on keeping it that way.

No one needs to know that his siren magic creeps out, in neon pink sparkles, whenever he speaks.

 

—

 

From the day he was born, Jihoon has cursed the blood that flows in his veins, the bloodline that he never wanted to have.

Magic sounds desirable; to be able to do  _ anything  _ that you wish, to be able to set yourself apart from others, to know that you have something that others don’t. But if you have a power that is nothing but uncontrollable and dangerous, Jihoon begs to differ.

He has read stories of sirens in mythology—powerful creatures that lure sailors into shipwrecks using their voices and songs. These creatures are nothing but myths, but there are people in the world who have been blessed by similar abilities—to utter words like the sweetest honey or the deadliest poison.

“Jihoon-ah,” his brother whispered as they cuddled in bed. Thunderstorms were scary, and Jihoon was thankful for the warmth and comfort that his brother provided. “I know you hate yourself, but you just have to learn to control your powers, and then you will learn to love yourself.”

The world of a child is filled with dreams and ideals, and the younger Jihoon nodded, “I will, hyung.”

Thinking back on that moment, Jihoon scoffs. He did manage to gain better control of his powers whenever he speaks. But magic is alive. There are still spurts of neon pink sparkles and vague chimes, though Jihoon thinks it’s better than no control at all. However, his subconscious state is so intrinsically linked to his inner wealth of magic, and he can’t control those moments when he starts to hum—and only realises how the magic has seeped out when he sees the glazed eyes and open mouths.

“You will learn how to love yourself,” Jihoon mutters aloud with a scoff. How ironic. How is it even possible for him to love himself when all he feels is hatred?

 

—

 

“Welcome to Wanna Bean!” Jihoon greets, a smile plastered on his face. “A skinny latte with hazelnut syrup, right?”

The customer in front of him nods. It isn’t the first time that Jihoon has seen him in the café. According to Jihoon’s  _ Two Groups _ , this customer would definitely be classified as a regular. Only that, the regulars that he thinks he knows (from all the stories he has read, movies that he has watched) often strike conversations with the barista, ranging from small talk to deep conversations. But the only things that Jihoon knows about this handsome customer is his name, Woojin, his order that is never changing, and the way he comes in on Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays has always been the same.

Among all the staff who work at the café, Jihoon definitely has the most loyal regulars. There are several customers who only come in when Jihoon’s at work. He can’t help but think that they are drawn in by his siren magic—the magic that persuades and sways. It’s hard to convince himself  that the magic isn’t in the air when it smells thick, despite the countless protective charms that he had Daehwi make for him, and hung over different corners of the café.

“Hyung,” Daehwi had whispered. “It’s not as easy to make them as you think.”

He spoke of recoil and magic—that magic is about balance, as much as it is about living. Jihoon doesn’t quite understand the concept like Daehwi does, not when his magic had been given to him, more than he ever wanted it.

The scent of coffee calms him down, and it’s easy for him to take his mind off the whole siren magic when he has an order to complete. Skinny lattes are simple, and he doesn’t forget to add that single shot of hazelnut syrup to the drink. He pours the mixture into a paper cup, slotting a cardboard sleeve over the cup so that it wouldn’t be burning hot to the human hand, and he calls, “A skinny latte for Woojin!”

Woojin is already waiting for his coffee, and he takes it from Jihoon’s hands with a single nod. He doesn’t say anything—he never does, and he walks to a secluded corner of the café to do whatever he came here to do.

Jihoon wants to know more about this Woojin, who only seems to come whenever Jihoon’s at work, from what the rest of the staff say. But he doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at Jihoon’s direction when he’s here, and it isn’t like Jihoon to be the one to start conversations. That’s more of something cheery Jaehwan-hyung or jolly Sungwoon-hyung would do, so Jihoon just swallows the lump of curiosity that is building up inside his throat.

 

—

 

A part of Jihoon slowly resigns to the idea that he would never find out more about the handsome Woojin—not when neither of them seem to have the idea of holding a conversation beyond “A skinny latte with hazelnut syrup, right?”, “Thank you”, and “That’d be six dollars, please”.

The thing about life is how opportunities present itself, but when you don’t take them, you either resign yourself to the fate or you change the what if’s and could have been’s. But Jihoon has never been the one to take hold of his own fate, to cup them in between his hands—not when the pink sparkles will evolve to become threads; and it’ll take control of his innermost desires, and project them into reality.

It’s also why Jihoon doesn’t expect a conversation to actually start with Woojin. Not like this. 

And  _ this _ is how it goes:

It had been a terrible day, thus far. High school was terrible with rebellious youths and immature friends—which is why college is great, because it’s easy for Jihoon to blend into the background, to blend into the nothingness so that his siren powers would never make its way out of his throat, past the lump that almost seems like it’s permanently embedded inside.

Jihoon had woken up late this morning, headed to class only to realise that there was a quiz that he forgot to study for. He could never survive classes without a cup of coffee in the morning (and evidently, he didn’t have time to grab one this morning), and promptly fell asleep in the middle of the quiz. After the quiz ended, he went on through the rest of his classes. The classes were relatively uneventful, and he thought that perhaps, his day was shaping out to be better.

But as he was on the way to work, it started pouring as he was a street away from the cafe, and Jihoon was drenched in an instant, even before he could take his umbrella out from the deepest corners of his backpack.

“Fuck,” he sighed, as the bell at the top of the door resounded, signalling his arrival in the cafe. Jihoon would have moved away from his spot at the entrance of the cafe, but he didn’t really want to get the rest of the furniture wet. Luckily, there weren’t many customers yet (although he had an inkling that customers would come in soon, to hide from the rain and to relish in the aroma of coffee and warmth.)

“You’re drenched,  _ what happened _ ,” Sungwoon-hyung comes out a second later, towels in his hand. Jihoon nods with another sigh, taking a towel from Sungwoon-hyung’s hand to dry the parts of his clothes that were dripping wet. “Oh  _ shit _ , I didn’t realise that it was raining so heavily.”

“It started raining when I was down the street,” Jihoon supplies, as Sungwoon-hyung’s trying to dry the edges of his hair. “I can’t believe my luck. Do we have extra clothes, by the way?”

“Yeah,” Sungwoon-hyung pauses in his action, taking a moment to muse. “I think Jisung-hyung has some spare ones in the backroom. I’ll grab them for you.”

Sungwoon-hyung deposits the towels into his arms, and Jihoon takes several more minutes to dry himself, before heading into the backroom as well. When he reaches there, Sungwoon-hyung has already laid out the change of clothes—a white shirt and a pair of black slacks, and he gives a pat on Jihoon’s shoulder, “I’ll man the counter for now.”

“Thanks hyung,” Jihoon tries to bring a smile up onto his face. He really does mean it, that he’s thankful that Sungwoon-hyung’s still here to help him for a moment longer, even though his shift has ended and no one likes to stay at work longer than they should.

The worst part about getting drenched in the rain isn’t so much about the clothes, or the dripping hair—but it’s the shoes and socks that Jihoon wouldn’t be able to find extras of. Jihoon hates using his powers, but desperate times call for desperate measures and the wrinkling of his socks are starting to become more unbearable as the time passes. So he takes a deep breath, humming escaping from his lips, hands drawn together in the movement of a prayer, picturing dry socks in his mind—and Jihoon lets the magic flow.

It’s the same tune to the songs that his grandmother would sing to him when he was a child, of comfort and warmth, of love-filled kimchi and playing at sandboxes. Jihoon can feel the magic flowing thickly in the air, and it’s just as suffocating as he remembers them to be, no matter how much the song that escapes is enveloping as he wishes.

He feels the wrinkles of his socks grow dry, the shoes no longer weighing as heavily as they should. Jihoon lets his hands fall back to his sides, softening the song and letting it reach its end. 

He presses his hands to the cotton shirt and slacks, and as he puts them on, perhaps, the warmth of his grandmother’s love had found its way there.

Jihoon tries to act like nothing had happened while he’s at work. But it’s just been a terrible day, and even the smell of the once-soothing coffee doesn’t do anything to help staunch his general annoyance at everything and anything that happens today. There aren’t any part-timers apart from him who work on Tuesday afternoons, because Jisung-hyung knows that there aren’t many customers anyway. So Jihoon can’t hide at the back like he’d like to, and he finds himself having a tad more bite than usual when it comes to serving customers.

“So,” Jihoon taps at the edge of the computer loudly, while the customer in front of him’s still staring at the different types of beans—as he has been doing for the past minute or so. “Sir, what beans would you like?”

Perhaps, the impatience and annoyance does seep through his voice, because the customer’s eyes widen, and he hurriedly says, “The Columbia ones, please.”

“Sure,” Jihoon nods, tapping at the screen. “That will be six dollars, please.”

The customer fumbles to take out his wallet, and Jihoon resists the urge to roll his eyes. He’s really not feeling it today, and the fact that there are foolish customers like the one in front of him doesn’t do anything to remedy the situation. 

But then, the next customer in line is Woojin.

“Same ol’ order?” Jihoon asks, evidently brighter than he’d been, but his hand is already writing down the order on the paper cup. 

“Yes please,” Woojin replies. There’s a meaningful look that Jihoon registers in his eyes, and he wonders if Woojin’s about to say something different from their usual routine. On a normal day, Jihoon thinks that his heart would be trembling hard from the excitement, but it’s a shitty day and Jihoon hates how he feels like he’s simply wallowing in his own pit of self pity. 

“A-are you okay?” Woojin asks, and there’s so much fucking concern in his voice.

_ That,  _ is something that Jihoon definitely hadn’t expected.

He wonders if he should really reveal his innermost thoughts to Woojin, a stranger who he albeit, knows well  _ enough  _ considering the hours that Woojin spends in the cafe, but it feels like he’s crossing the lines that he never knew existed. Jihoon’s occupied in his thoughts when Woojin’s voice cuts through, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Perhaps, it’s the sheer amount of genuineness that he senses in Woojin’s voice, and the way his voice seems to be shaking in regret. It’s a feeling that Jihoon knows all too well—when you finally get the courage to say what you’ve been swallowing all this while, and when people don’t react in the way you had expected them to, you think that it’s better to have kept your mouth shut. 

And Jihoon doesn’t want Woojin to feel that way. It’s strange, because Jihoon has never been one to care about the feelings of strangers, when all he wanted to do was to fade into the background of nothingness. But there’s a first time for everything, and his mouth is moving faster than he can think, and he explains, “No,  _ no.  _ I’m just feeling rather peckish today, I guess. It hasn’t  _ exactly  _ been a good day so far.”

Woojin purses his lips together, and there’s a gaze in his eyes that is so intense and serious, but Jihoon can’t quite describe it properly. “We all have our days like that. I hope you’ll feel better.”

It isn’t exactly how Jihoon pictures their first conversation to go, but there’s just something about Woojin’s voice that grounds him down, that makes him feel like he’s back in his grandmother’s embrace where it’s all about safety, love and  _ home _ . And his heart feels warm.

“Thanks,” Jihoon murmurs. “And that will be six dollars, please.”

Woojin smiles at him, like he’s glad that his words had managed to make a difference, that it’s like an umbrella on a rainy day. He hands the notes over to Jihoon, and Jihoon feels a sting of electricity run through veins from that  _ minute  _ moment of contact with Woojin’s hand.

It’s  _ strange _ .

It isn’t even the first time that their hands have briefly touched each other’s, but there’s just something about this moment that differs from the rest, and it makes Jihoon think of all the romance stories that he has read since he was growing up; of fluttering crushes and blossoming love.

His anger fades away as he works on Woojin’s order, and he calls out “A hazelnut skinny latte for Woojin!” when he’s done.

Woojin walks over, and he gives him a soft smile as he takes the cup from Jihoon’s hands. “Thank you.”

It’s funny how they had always felt like strangers whose paths have always crossed, but never  _ quite _ met. It reminds him of how trains that go in opposite directions pass by one another, but the people inside the respective trains never quite meet, and they only see the brief glances of each other through the glass windows.

It feels like the train has reached the depot, and they aren’t quite strangers anymore—it’s  _ different  _ now.

 

—

 

Jihoon smiles to himself as he carries a new supply of freshly made charms with him. Daehwi had finally finished making a new batch after Jihoon realised that the charms at the cafe was wearing off, and he finds people getting glazed eyes whenever he asks them for their order. 

And it’s also during situations like these where Jihoon’s forced to add a tad more charm in his voice, “What will you like to order?” before he gets a response.

Jihoon’s hanging up the charms that are usually at the top of the doorbell when the the door opens. It’s awkward for a moment, because he’s on the ladder and it’s blocking the way for Woojin to enter the cafe, and he fumbles for a moment, and it almost makes him lose his balance. Jihoon heaves a sigh of relief when he feels Woojin grab onto the leg of the ladder, steadying him and anchoring him down.

“You okay there?” Woojin asks.

“Yeah,” Jihoon replies, and he didn’t quite realise how breathless he became. “Just give me a moment?”

Woojin smiles, and Jihoon hurries to take down the old charm and replace it with the new, freshly made one. It’s nice that Daehwi is good at handicrafts, at making the charms look like they resemble bookmarks or decorative charms from indie stores; and it’s also why Jisung-hyung hasn’t said anything about them.

He climbs down from the ladder, and prepares to fold it in but Woojin beats him to it. It takes him by surprise at how Woojin’s arms look so fucking strong as he’s folding them in; but there’s a greater degree of surprise at how Woojin’s so ready to help Jihoon even though they are (almost) strangers who just started talking to each other a few days back.

“Where should I bring it to?” Woojin asks, tucking the ladder under his arm. 

“You know, staff quarters are private quarters right?” Jihoon replies, and it’s strange how it’s so easy for him to be comfortable around Woojin, strange how easy it is for the teasing notes to seep its way through his voice. It took him a long time before he warmed up to Daehwi (and a part of him thinks that it’s because Daehwi’s a wizard—a powerful, young wizard and that made him break down his layers in front of the younger.)

“Oh,” and there’s a red flush that starts to dust itself on Woojin’s cheeks as he scratches at the side of his head with his free hand.

“But I guess it’s fine if it’s you,” Jihoon smiles, and he’s walking towards the counter, and he holds onto the swinging half door that leads to the back area. “Come in.”

Woojin grins sheepishly, and Jihoon tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat at the way his snaggletooth peeks out from the side of his mouth. He never quite realised that Woojin had one but now that Jihoon has seen it, he thinks that he’s never going to get that charming feature out of his head. 

“You can just put it here,” Jihoon says, pointing to one of the empty walls. Woojin nods, and he places it there and Jihoon can’t help but focus on the way Woojin’s back muscles strain sinfully beautifully against his cotton of his shirt. It’s terrible how the mind works: that what he used not to realise suddenly multiplies and becomes so fucking intense after there’s that mental  _ Ding  _ moment in his head.

“Thanks for your help!” Jihoon smiles as the both of them step out of the staff room. Woojin’s quick to return to his position as a customer, standing in front of the counter. “Same ol’ order?”

“No problem,” Woojin smiles. “It’s nice to help people. And yes please.”

“That’s true,” Jihoon nods as he starts writing down his order on the paper cup. 

It’s at this moment when the door swings open, bells chiming with the movement and Jihoon can fucking smell the thickness of the magic that enters together with the individual. Jihoon doesn’t even need to look at the individual to know what he is. He can tell from the pompousness that rides on the way the customer’s humming to a song and the way he doesn’t give a shit about controlling his magic.

He takes a sweep around the cafe, and he can’t help but start biting on his lower lip as he sees the familiar glazed eyes. God. He should have asked for more charms.

“Is everything alright?” Woojin’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a glass of water on a blistering hot day—and it forces Jihoon to jerk back into reality.

“Yeah,” Jihoon exhales loudly. He didn’t quite realise that he was beginning to turn breathless, breathing in oxygen that doesn’t quite move down his windpipe. He feels like he’s trying to breathe underwater, from the magic that flows like a thick chocolate mixture in the air. 

The stupid customer is so powerful, and yet he doesn’t do  _ anything  _ to control himself—and it’s exactly the opposite of what Jihoon had always wanted to do: to control his powers, to pretend that he’s just a regular human being with no magic powers whatsoever.

“You sure?” Woojin emphasises, and Jihoon can hear the worry in his voice. 

He tries to force a smile onto his face, but it does nothing to convince both Woojin  _ and  _ himself. “I’m alright.”

Even if Woojin knows that he isn’t alright, he doesn’t prod and merely nods. He walks back to  _ his  _ corner of the cafe, and Jihoon lets out a large exhale before he looks up to take the pompous ass’ order.

“I’d like to have two cups of iced americano please,” The customer says, a lazy smirk hanging on his lips. Jihoon bites at his lower lip at the stench of magic that emanates with his voice. It reminds him of chocolate—but it’s the unpleasant kind of chocolate, the type of chocolate that is so thick that it glides down your throat forcefully when you consume it and leaves you wanting for more water— _ anything _ , to sooth the parchness of your throat. 

Jihoon frowns when he takes another look around the cafe, and the glazed eyes look cloudier than they did before. But when he turns to look at Woojin’s direction, the male looks nothing like the rest—his eyes are clear as day, and they are trained on Jihoon and they still have that tinge of concern in them.

It’s strange because Woojin  _ should  _ be affected by the magic in the air, the magic that comes from every word that has escaped this customer’s mouth.

“Hello?” The customer reiterates, waving his hands in front of Jihoon to catch his attention.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” Jihoon is brought back to reality. “Could I get your name please?”

“Seongwoo,” The customer—Seongwoo—replies. And he’s leaning in closer to the counter than one usually would and he whispers, “You’re a siren  _ too _ ?”

Jihoon doesn’t want to admit it, so he settles for nodding instead. At least it makes himself feel better than to verbally admit it. 

“I’d appreciate if you could tone down your siren  _ thing _ , though,” Jihoon says, trying to keep his voice as level as possible as he writes down Seongwoo’s name on the plastic cups. He nods over to the direction of the door, where Daehwi’s charm is rattling, straining to control Seongwoo’s powers. 

“Oh, sorry ‘bout that. I didn’t realise that I wasn’t quite keeping my powers reeled in,” Seongwoo says. Jihoon doesn’t quite detect the sincerity in his voice, but the air  _ does _ feel lighter and he doesn’t feel like he’s drowning in a pool of chocolate anymore. 

“Thank you,” Jihoon puts on a strained, practiced smile. “That’d be ten dollars, please.” 

Seongwoo hands over the note and there aren’t anymore customers behind him, so Jihoon gets to preparing their drinks. He makes sure to start with Seongwoo’s first, so that he doesn’t get reminded of the pompous ass—and well, it  _ does  _ take less effort to make americanos than lattes. No need to steam milk, at least. 

So he calls Seongwoo’s name when he’s done with his order, and Seongwoo comes over to take the two cups of iced americanos, and saunters out of the cafe—not before giving Jihoon a wink. Jihoon exhales loudly as Seongwoo’s out of the cafe, and when he looks at the top of the door, Daehwi’s charms have finally calmed down, and they’ve stopped rattling against the wood. Jihoon almost felt bad for them, for having to put them through the tornado of  _ this  _ Seongwoo person— _ well, _ he means—siren. 

“That bad?” 

Jihoon’s thoughts get interrupted by a deep voice that is suddenly loud against the shell of his ear, which makes him jump back and go, “Fuck!”

Woojin only laughs at Jihoon’s reaction, and Jihoon can’t help but feel his heart clenching at that smile. 

“It’s been a while since my order, and I’m pretty sure I should’ve been served first,” Woojin states, but there’s a tone of cheekiness in his voice that makes Jihoon flush.

“I’m sorry,” Jihoon tries to defend himself. It’s useless though, he knows, because things have already transpired so he opts to start grinding the beans and grabbing the carton of milk from the fridge instead. “It’s just that he was pretty  _ unsettling _ .”

“Really?” Woojin raises a single eyebrow, and from the corner of Jihoon’s eyes, he could see how the tanned male had settled down in the seat by the coffee machine, his cheek resting on a single hand propped up.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says and he doesn’t dare to look up. It’s easy for him not to look at Woojin anyway, when he’s supposed to be preparing his coffee.

“Well—He didn’t seem very daunting to me. Just looked like a pompous fool.”

There’s something about Woojin’s words that make a bell go off in his head.  _ To me.  _ It’s a strange way of phrasing things. And Jihoon is reminded of how Woojin was seemingly unaffected by Seongwoo’s magic, and how his eyes remained as clear as crystal waters.

And it prompts him to turn over to Woojin, to meet eyes directly with him and he asks, “Is there something that I should know about you?”

There’s a moment of hesitation that flashes through his eyes, of fear and anxiety that Jihoon recognises all too easily; and he wonders if he overstepped his boundaries. They were, after all,  _ still  _ strangers, no matter how easily they were holding a conversation now.

Jihoon’s about to retract his question but Woojin beats him to it with a particularly loud exhale.

“I’m a half-lycanthrope.”

 

— 

 

“Daehwi!” 

Jihoon rushed back home after his shift ended, and it took him more effort than usual to open the door as his hands fumbled around with the keys. 

It’s nice to live with someone who you’ve grown up with, knows you inside out—all the good and bad, and there’s no need to hide any of the magic when he’s with Daehwi. Their apartment is decked with spells all over, charms hanging everywhere so that it stops the magic from seeping out of their doors.

When he opens the door, he’s greeted with a strong scent of plant and earth. Daehwi always had an affinity with the earth, and it’s what most of his charms are made of. He remembers how he used to hate the scent of mud that washes upon the earth when the rain falls (and it’s what Daehwi’s magic smells like), but as time pass and seasons change, Jihoon comes to associate it as the smell of  _ home _ .

“What are you doing?” Jihoon asks, dropping his bag on the couch in their living room.

Daehwi isn’t looking at him. He’s seated on the ground (“Closer to the earth,” Daehwi explains) in the middle of the room, and there’s a pile of herbs lying on printed cloth. Daehwi blinks a single eye open, and Jihoon can sense the glare in it and he backs away, “Ok, ok, I’m out of here!”

Jihoon  _ does  _ back away, and he heads back to his room where it’s more minimalistic than the rest of their apartment. It’s not to say that Daehwi’s messy; but there’s so much curiosity and thirst for knowledge that burns in the younger boy, that their living room is often filled with thick books and herbs and checkered cloth. He knows better than to interrupt Daehwi when he’s in the middle of his divinity practices, so he stays in his room until Daehwi knocks on his door and says that it’s okay.

He sees the vague sparkles flashing from the gaps beneath the door, and the way the charms on his door rattle, and how the room fizzles slightly. It’s always the same rhythm—and Daehwi comes knocking on his door seconds later.

Daehwi has a pouch in his hands and he deposits it into Jihoon’s hands.

“What’s this for?” Jihoon stares at the small charm. It’s heavier than the ones that Jihoon remembers, and there’s something about it—of how there are still residual sparks that fly out of it—that is  _ quite  _ terrifying to him.

“I felt my charms getting rattled earlier today,” Daehwi says with a sigh. “I know I just made them recently and I thought that you could use something stronger.”

It reminds Jihoon of Seongwoo and Jihoon sighs exasperatedly. “Don’t remind me about that. He was  _ fucking  _ terrible. He didn’t even bother to control his powers—people were getting affected just from the way he talked!’

Daehwi pats him on the shoulder, but something about the weight of his hand tells Jihoon that this isn’t new information. How do charms even work, god damn it? 

But it also reminds Jihoon of what happened with Park Woojin, and he’s pulling Daehwi onto his bed. “I have something to ask you too.”

Daehwi raises a single eyebrow. Whenever it’s Lee Daehwi and Park Jihoon, it’s always Daehwi who asks the questions, and Jihoon doesn’t give the answers—so Daehwi hits the books instead; and it’s strange that Jihoon’s the one armed with the questions this time. “What?”

“I met a half-lycanthrope today,” Jihoon says. It suddenly feels like he’s revealing private information about himself—words that should be sealed away in the back of his mind, and no one else is privy to the information. “And he was immune to the strong ass siren.”

“What?” Daehwi’s eyes widen. “But we’ve  _ never  _ met anyone who’s immune to you. Well, except me, of course.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon nods. “We’ve never met any lycanthropes before, right?”

Daehwi shakes his head. “We’ve always been more attuned to the  _ magical  _ side of the realm.”

Jihoon hums slightly, and before he knows it, Daehwi has already gone out of the room and is back with another book in his hands. Jihoon knows what Daehwi is about to do, and there’s something entrancing about it that it makes Jihoon fall silent and focus solely on watching the scene in front of him unfold.

He’s back on the ground in Jihoon’s room, and he places a fresh green leaf on top of the book. Daehwi closes his eyes as he places his palms against each other.

It’s silent, but Jihoon feels the air pick up, and then it’s swirling in golden sparkles around Daehwi and they coil around the single leaf on the book.

“Find it for me,” Daehwi murmurs. It’s soft and gentle, but it’s a demand. It almost looks like the leaf is bowing to Daehwi, and then it’s serving his beck and call as the wind turns the pages in a golden flurry and it falls flat on a single page.

Daehwi’s eyes flutter open and he explodes into a coughing fit. The golden sparkles are gone together with the wind, and the once green leaf has turned into a shade of dirty brown. The magic in the air is gone, but what remains is knowledge that spreads across time.

“Here it is, hyung,” Daehwi beckons Jihoon over, and they sit cross-legged on the ground, in front of the book with weathered pages. Jihoon tries to smoothen out his hair—parts of his hair that would look like they have been fried with static whenever Daehwi used magic.

“Legend says that lycanthropes have always been immune to sirens, apparently,” Daehwi reads. “It’s something about how the curses in their blood cancel out each other’s abilities.”

“Oh?” Jihoon raises a single eyebrow. 

“Yeah, and I guess because we’ve never really stepped out of our side of the realm, we’ve never known that there’d be people who are immune to you, hyung.”

Then, Daehwi breaks into a soft, gentle smile and he’s enveloping Jihoon into a hug. 

“I’m happy for you.”

 

— 

 

Along the way, Jihoon finds that the conversations between him and Woojin have progressed beyond the memories of forced sentences; and somewhere along the line, they start knowing each other better. Jihoon finds himself telling Woojin more about himself, about how he likes working here no matter how busy college gets and he finds out more about Woojin as well—of how he has a younger sister, Yerim, who’s back in Busan, and he’s working hard so that she too, can come down and live in Seoul with him.

“Oh, so you’re from Busan?” Jihoon raises a single eyebrow.  _ Well,  _ that could explain why he never got to meet someone who was immune to him.

“Yeah,” Woojin replies, but there’s a tinge of red that dusts his cheeks and he’s scratching at the side of his face. The table beside the counter has started to become Woojin’s corner whenever Jihoon’s working and it’s littered with Woojin’s books. “I worked really hard to get rid of my  _ satoori  _ but it still comes out whenever I’m nervous.”

Jihoon feels his heart swell. Fuck. Fuck his own kinks.

Of course he  _ just  _ had to have a kink for men with  _ satoori _ —and this Park Woojin just had to have a Busan  _ satoori _ : the king of all  _ satooris. _

Jihoon doesn’t actually know what possesses him to say the next words. Perhaps, it’s the winter chill that is starting to draw in, and Jihoon’s unconsciously searching for warmth—and he finds it in Park Woojin’s eyes.

“You don’t have to hold yourself back in front of me, though,” Jihoon says. He knows that his own cheeks are dusted with pink too. So, he averts his gaze, looks down and focuses on the way his shoes are scraping against the dust trapped in between the gaps of the wooden floorboard. “I mean, well, I’m from Masan too, and our  _ satoori _ s are similar, aren’t they?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” Woojin replies. Then, there’s a moment of silence that hangs above the two of them, and then, Woojin’s breaking into a soft chuckle. “Thank you.”

It’s timely how the bell above their cafe entrance chimes, and it signals the arrival of a new customer. Duty calls, and Jihoon heads back to his position behind the cashier. 

(What Jihoon doesn’t realise is that as he hums softly to walk over to the register, a trail of acacias start to grow behind him.)

 

— 

 

Jihoon isn’t stupid. As much as he has started to grow close to Woojin, he realises that the younger has started to fall asleep in the cafe more frequently, staying past the time he usually leaves and only leaves when Jihoon’s leaving the cafe too. Perhaps, it’s Daehwi’s inquisitive nature that has also seeped into his veins, because he can’t stop the burning question from escaping his throat:

“Why are you doing all these for me?” Jihoon asks.

Woojin had fallen asleep in the cafe again. It is cold outside, and Jihoon had turned on the heater in the cafe, which created a cosy environment (and honestly, it also made Jihoon feel sleepy as the hours ticked away). But as the hours passed and people started to leave the cafe, Jihoon couldn’t quite bring himself to wake Woojin up, especially as he saw the dark eye bags that were growing; and Jihoon’s also well aware that finals season was approaching. 

Woojin purses his lips together. He looks like he’s in deep thought on what he should say next, trying to find the  _ right  _ words. And when he looks up from where he had been staring at, he says, “I guess—I wanted to get to know you better.”

Jihoon feels the heat rushing to his face. His heart is beating fast and quick against his chest, and it’s a different kind of adrenaline that courses through his body as compared to when the magic is rich. He vaguely wonders if the full moon is approaching. It’s when his powers are more potent. But there isn’t a thick stench that permeates the air, and Jihoon becomes aware that it’s a reaction to attraction.

He wonders what he should say, but Woojin finds the words that stayed lodged in his throat.

“Would you like… to go on a date with me?”

It isn’t quite what Jihoon had been expecting. 

But he feels a voice in his head that tells him to say yes, and how there are more pink sparkles that float around him to settle by his feet, where the tiny acacias are growing as his heart beats faster so he says, “Yes.”

 

—

 

It takes them a while to find a date when the both of them are free, as they are both swamped with finals. They finally agree to a date, several days before their finals actually start so that they get at least, a day of rest before they become married to their books instead.

It’s cold, and it’s one of those annoying days where Jihoon can’t quite decide which outerwear he should wear, in fears of the weather suddenly changing in the afternoon to become warmer. So, he picks out a knitted cardigan and matches it with a red turtleneck and dark jeans. It looks date-y enough, Jihoon thinks.

Before he steps out of the room, though, Daehwi’s bouncing up to him. There are still some twigs in his hair and Jihoon can smell the scent of flowers radiating from him. He has a little amulet in his hands, and it’s of a pink cloth with a bunny stitched on it.

“For your date,” Daehwi supplies helpfully. “So that nothing goes wrong!”

“Excuse me,” Jihoon squints at Daehwi, while punching him softly in the shoulder. “Are you saying that the date could go wrong?”

“ _ Nooo,  _ hyung! I didn’t say anything! Don’t misunderstand my intentions,” Daehwi sing-songs, while feigning hurt at Jihoon’s punch. Then, he’s dropping the amulet onto Jihoon’s open palm. “It’s made with acacias, mint and other stuff.”

“Acacias?” Jihoon raises an eyebrow, but he stuffs the amulet into his back pocket.

Daehwi widens his eyes. “Hyung… Have you not noticed it?”

“Noticed what?”

Daehwi brings a hand up to smack it against his forehead before pointing to the trail of glittery flowers that have grown behind Jihoon. “There’s been trails of acacias growing behind you for the past few weeks, hyung.”

And you know what that means, Jihoon-hyung.”

Jihoon does.

“You’re in love with Woojin-hyung.”

 

—

 

Jihoon ends up reaching Gangnam Station several minutes earlier than their stipulated meeting time. Gangnam’s always crowded, no matter what time of the day. They’ve decided to head for a meal at a dog cafe together, then perhaps, head to the arcade or something. 

But as he’s tapping out of the station, he recognises a familiar figure leaning against one of the pillars and tapping at his phone. Woojin does look fucking good, in a black coat, printed sweatshirt and black jeans. Jihoon almost feels underdressed for their date, but it also isn’t like he can go back home just to change. 

He feels Daehwi’s amulet heat up, and there’s a warm tingle that emanates from it—and Jihoon can’t help the smile from creeping onto his face, at how it seems to be encouraging him to step forth.

“Hey,” Jihoon says. “Did you wait long?”

“Oh,” Woojin jerks back slightly from the shock, and he pulls out his earphones. “No, no, I didn’t wait too long. You’re early too.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon scratches at the side of his face, and he wonders if his face is flushing. “I guess I couldn’t wait to meet you.”

Perhaps, it is because Jihoon sees the way the tips of Woojin’s ears turn red and he says, “Me too.”

  
  
  
  
  


The dog cafe is situated in between cream-coloured office buildings. There’s a patch of green grass before they can get up to the actual cafe, and there’s something about it that creates a relaxing environment, an atmosphere of calmness and serenity in between the hustle and bustle of city life.

The steps leading up to the cafe is made of wood, and he’s invaded with a sense of DOG when he steps into the cafe. There’s nothing better than dogs in the world, really. Free of all the complexities of humankind, and they just seem to be able to heal you with their presence alone.

The cafe’s on the relatively expensive side, and he offers to foot the cost of the cafe, but Woojin beats him to it. 

“I’m paying for the date,” Woojin says, taking out his wallet while swatting Jihoon’s hand away. 

_ Monster flappy hands _ , Jihoon thinks as he stares at Woojin’s hands. But then, he remembers what he’s actually supposed to be focusing on, and he frowns at Woojin. “You’ve been buying coffee from us for the past few months. You don’t have to spend money on me.”

“I want to,” Woojin insists, and this time, he grabs hold onto Jihoon’s hands so that they can’t reach backwards to his wallet. There’s a small red flush at the tips of his ears, and Jihoon thinks that the staff is probably cooing at the sight.

Jihoon sighs with a loud huff, “Fine. At least let me pay for the drinks, then.”

“Sure,” Woojin grins, and then he’s handing the notes over to the staff while Jihoon heads over to get coffee for them.

It feels strangely domestic for them to do this, as if they have already been together for months,  _ years _ , even. There’s just something about fighting over the bill, and Jihoon relenting, walking over to get coffee for the both of them that screams something that’s beyond the line of friendship to him. Perhaps, it’s the way Jihoon doesn’t even need to ask for Woojin’s coffee order. Perhaps, it’s the way Woojin clutches onto his hands so that Jihoon doesn’t pay. 

Jihoon feels his heart swell in love as he says, “A hot latte and another skinny latte with hazelnut syrup, please.”

“That’d be 10, 000won.”

Then, there’s a pair of hands handing over a note as Jihoon’s fumbling to open his wallet. He knows whose hands are those even without looking behind him, and he pouts, “I thought I said I’d pay for the coffee.”

Woojin grins at him, and there’s that peek of the snaggletooth  _ again _ . “I had some loose change from the entrance fees.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Yeah right.”

Then, Woojin’s reaching down to hold his hands, and he leads them over to the railing of the dog enclosure as they wait for their drinks. Woojin doesn’t let go of their hands even as they are leaning against the railing. In fact, he begins to let his fingers trail over the spaces in between his fingers, and their fingers meet the spaces of each other's fingers, as if they were meant to be there all along.

  
  
  
  
  


“You’re so cute,” Woojin coos over the little pomeranian that has settled itself in Woojin’s lap.

Jihoon pouts at how easily the dogs are crowding around Woojin. He trains his eyes on the small golden retriever’s that whining for attention at Woojin’s side, in which the attention  _ is  _ hard to get considering how the tanned boy is getting engulfed in puppies and small dogs.

_ Come to me,  _ Jihoon wills. He could use his powers to call the puppies over, but he doesn’t want to—doesn’t want to rely on those wretched abilities of his. But the puppy doesn’t move from his spot and Jihoon huffs in exasperation, and Jihoon can hear Woojin’s laughter.

“ _ What, _ ” Jihoon deadpans, crossing his arms and refusing to look at Woojin in the eyes. He’s focusing on the dogs in Woojin’s lap, not Woojin. Certainly not Park Woojin. It’s the dogs. 

“You’re so cute,” and then Woojin’s inching closer to him and holding onto the golden retriever before depositing it in Jihoon’s lap.

The golden retriever whines at the loss of contact from Woojin, but he looks up to meet eyes with Jihoon. Jihoon feels himself melting at the golden fur and the black, beady eyes and he can’t help but stroke along his back. It’s soft and warm, and he can’t help but let out an “Aww” at the way the puppy leans back to ask for more.

He doesn’t realise how Woojin has stopped in his puppy-domination administrations to stare at Jihoon and the puppy, and it’s only when Woojin’s gaze starts feeling a little prickly and steely that it prompts Jihoon to look at Woojin.

Woojin’s gaze is soft, despite its intensity and Jihoon thinks that his knees would have buckled under if it weren’t for the fact that they were both seated on the ground. Then, Woojin’s reaching out to stroke the side of Jihoon’s face, and there’s nothing but affection in his voice, “You’re so cute with the puppy.”

Jihoon feels his heart skip a beat at the contact, at Park Woojin’s words. It’s hard not for him not to get worked up by Woojin’s administrations, when it makes him feel like they are a couple, that they are together. But it also reminds him of how they haven’t said anything about what they were, and it’s hard to define the lines when they’ve already gotten so blurred.

He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, to think that Woojin  _ does  _ like him back, only for it to come crumbling down. At the end of the day, he’s still a siren—someone who could kill another easily if it weren’t for Daehwi’s charms and his own self control. It’s hard for Jihoon to picture that there could be someone else in the world that would love him when he couldn’t even love himself. 

“Stop thinking too hard,” Woojin’s voice is like a cup of hot water that pours over the frozen ice to melt it, and Jihoon recognises the feeling of Woojin’s fingers on the side of his forehead. “You’re going to get wrinkles.”

Jihoon shakes the thoughts of crippling insecurity away. It’s always easier to mask them with laughter instead, so Jihoon makes a joke, “It’s hard for me not to think of how to steal these puppies away from you, when you’re a puppy magnet!”

Woojin looks surprised for a moment, before he’s laughing together with Jihoon. “Hey, hey. I can’t help it, that’s who I am.”

“You’re not supposed to use your half-lycanthrope powers for this!”

“You’re just  _ jealous _ . Admit it!”

  
  
  
  
  


They end up at the arcade after spending hours at the dog cafe. 

Winter is coming, which means that the days are shorter and the nights are longer; and Jihoon finds himself trying to wrap his cardigan tighter against himself as the wind is stronger than usual tonight. It’s hard to do so though, as he’s holding onto the giant plastic bag that’s filled with the giant rabbit plush that Woojin had won for him with the claw machine.

Woojin’s walking him home, and Jihoon curses the very fact that his apartment is located at the top of the hill, as the slope makes it easier for the bitter, cold air to brush against his cheeks.

Then, he senses Woojin stop next to him, and Jihoon’s suddenly greeted with a blanket of warmth. It’s thick and Jihoon can smell the residual cologne—of musk and sandalwood—that lingers on the coat. When he looks at Woojin, he sees a grin tugging at his lips, a hand beckoning outwards for Jihoon to hand him the plastic bag.

“Aren’t you cold?” Jihoon asks. 

“I’m stronger than you, stupid,” Woojin says, and he takes the plastic bag himself. 

Jihoon frowns. “You’re going to get sick and it’s finals soon.”

“ _ You  _ are the one who’s going to get sick,” Woojin retorts. 

Jihoon pouts slightly, but he does as Woojin wants him to and pulls the coat over his arms. It’s still warm from when Woojin was wearing it moments ago, and it almost feels like Woojin’s hugging him tight. It’s intimate, and it’s a feeling that he isn’t quite used to. But it’s nice, and Jihoon finds himself wanting  _ more _ .

“You look good in it,” Jihoon hears Woojin say, and then, he’s covering his mouth with his hand, as if he hadn’t wanted and expected the words to actually escape from his mouth.

Jihoon sees the flush on his cheeks, and how it sounds like Woojin likes seeing Jihoon in  _ his  _ clothes—and Jihoon can’t help but blush as well. It feels like the lines are becoming increasingly blurred. While Jihoon wants to demarcate the lines properly, there’s something about the blurred lines that Jihoon likes—that there isn’t a need for a label when it comes to the two of them, because it’s just  _ them  _ in the big world ahead.

He wonders if he should act coy and go with the mood of romanticism that seems to be hanging over them, or joke about it. But Woojin beats him to it, and he’s holding onto Jihoon’s hand with his free hand, and he forces Jihoon to look straight in his own eyes.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Woojin starts.

There’s hesitation and sincerity in his eyes that Jihoon can detect; and Woojin takes a large exhale before he continues.

“You can always rely on me.”

“There’s only me in this world who’s immune to you, right?” Woojin says, with a grin and the snaggletooth peeks out. 

And Jihoon feels his heart skip. 

There’s something about Woojin’s words that provide him with the reassurance that he’d never quite felt before. Daehwi has been in his life for the longest time, and he’s been the one that had held Jihoon’s hand through all the good and bad times together—but Daehwi isn’t  _ his.  _ No matter how Daehwi had been there for him during the times that he was sad and feeling terrible about himself, Jihoon still feels like he’s being enclosed in a wall of his loneliness; of a shell of how he can’t ever treat anyone in the world right because of his inherent powers.

Daehwi loves him, and he loves Daehwi too—but he can’t bring  _ himself _ to love himself.

But if Woojin’s here by his side, it feels like he might be able to do it.

Woojin feels like he’ll be there to hold his hand as he’s going through the baby steps of learning how to love himself. There’s something about Woojin that’s different from how it’s like with Daehwi—that Woojin doesn’t have to ask, and he’d know how Jihoon is feeling; and how he never pushes for anything when it comes to Jihoon and he complies with waiting for the moment where Jihoon’s ready to tell him whatever he wants to say.

And there’s something reassuring about that and it makes Jihoon wonder—when have they become like this, when did he start relying on Woojin, as if Woojin is his lifeline?

Woojin’s looking at him like he’s waiting for an answer, and Jihoon tightens his grip on their interlocked hands, and he says, “Thank you.”

 

—

 

_ “Teacher! It was him!” _

_ “I saw Jihoonie singing to Mr. Peter and then, the next thing I saw, Mr Peter was lying dead inside the cage!” _

_ … _

_ “Mrs Park, it has come to our attention that your son, Jihoon, had killed off the class rabbit when he was singing to it. Is there something that we should be aware of?” _

_ Jihoon tugs closer to his mother. Her coat is thick and furry, and it’s the only source of warmth that Jihoon feels in the ice cold room. He knows what Ms. Lee is talking about. _

_ Jihoonie never meant for it to happen. _

_ Jihoonie never wanted anything to happen to Mr. Peter. _

_ All Jihoonie wanted to do was to sing to him, so that he could perhaps, bring a smile to Mr. Peter’s face.  _

_ But yet, everything crumbles beneath his voice; and Jihoon wonders what has he done to deserve this. _

 

—

 

When Jihoon wakes up, he’s bathed in a layer of cold sweat and he’s panting.

It was a night of a full moon, Jihoon knows. It’s when his magic is most potent, and he’s reminded of the reasons of why he can’t love himself, not when he’s a fucking monster inside. He could so easily take life away from a person, and he can’t learn to love a monster like that.

He’s bounded onto the bed in thick pink ropes of thorns and vines. He vaguely remembers that Woojin’s supposed to be picking him up for their date to the skating rink, but he can’t think of the date anymore, not when his mind is being haunted of memories of the past; of memories that he wants to keep locked in the innermost pits of his mind but he can’t.

Jihoon hears a knock on his door, and it’s Daehwi who widens his eyes when he enters his room. “Woojin—Oh shit. What happened?”

“I had a bad dream,” Jihoon explains with a shaky voice.

A look of understanding flashes in Daehwi’s eyes, and Jihoon’s glad that it isn’t the first time that this has happened and Jihoon doesn’t have to explain anything to Daehwi, because Daehwi always knows what to do.

It’s days like these when Jihoon usually mopes in his own bed, in the ropes of magic and refuses to get out. It’s days like these that serve as a painful reminder of  _ who  _ he is, and how he doesn’t deserve anything good in this world because of his inherent being.

It’s also why he’s surprised when Daehwi leaves the room, and it isn’t Daehwi who returns to the room, but it’s Woojin.

“What are you doing here?” Jihoon chokes out. He wants to get up from his bed, wants to do something about the thick ropes of magic that are binding him down, but he can’t—and he just doesn’t want Woojin to see him like this.

“Daehwi briefly told me what happens to you on days where there are full moons,” Woojin explains as he’s walking closer to Jihoon. Jihoon can sense the magic rustling, and he isn’t quite sure if it’s from the intrusion of someone that isn’t Jihoon, or if it’s something that’s welcoming—as the thorns are fading into the threads slowly.

“But I still wanted to see you for myself. We’re supposed to be on a date today, anyway, aren’t we?” Woojin grins slightly and he’s standing next to Jihoon, hand sneaking its way through the ropes to caress Jihoon’s face. “I’ll be here with you no matter what happens, stupid.”

“You’re the one who’s stupid,” Jihoon retorts.

“Stupidly in love with you, maybe,” Woojin smiles again.

Wait.

_ What? _

Did Park Woojin just confess to him like… now?

Jihoon tries not to think of what just happened, but it’s hard to do so when all that’s running through his head is the way Woojin’s deep voice says “in love with you”. He feels the heat rushing to his head, and he sees the way Woojin turns into the brightest shade of red and there are suddenly little furry ears that are growing from the top of Woojin’s head, and he tries to pat them down.

“Fuck,” Woojin says. “Did I just say  _ that _ ?”

Jihoon nods, “Yeah. Was that supposed to be a confession?”

Woojin groans, and he’s smooshing his face into his open palms. “This was  _ not  _ how I planned for the confession to go.”

And then Jihoon’s laughing. It’s always easy to break into a laugh whenever he’s with Woojin. It could be about everything and anything, and he’d be laughing—and Jihoon realises,  _ hey _ , perhaps, it’s because of Park Woojin that he’s able to find the tiniest joys and delights in his bitter life, because there’s something about him that just makes life better and worth living.

Jihoon feels his chest heaving in laughter, but it also prompts him to realise that there isn’t anything that’s holding him back, that the thick ropes of magic have faded away, and there are tiny acacias that are growing in between the gaps of his floors—and Jihoon wants to pluck them away, and settle them against the fluffy ears on top of Woojin’s head.

“Ugh,” Woojin groans. “I wanted to confess to you properly.”

Jihoon smiles, and he pulls Woojin up so that he can look straight into Woojin’s eyes. It’s funny how Woojin’s every action washes away his insecurities and fears so easily, and he curls his hand against the gap between the ears, and he pets at the hair. 

“I can’t believe I’m a furry,” Jihoon jokes.

Woojin groans even louder. “I didn’t think my half-lycanthrope-ness would surface like this too.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still cute,” Jihoon explains, and he tries not to let the smile grow too wide at how Woojin unconsciously leans into his touch, and how the ears twitch slightly in the direction of Jihoon’s hand.

“Sure, I am,” Woojin sighs, and then he’s standing up so he can settle against Jihoon’s side on the bed. “Anyway,”

Park Jihoon, what I wanted to say is that—”

Woojin looks straight into Jihoon’s eyes as his fingers dance along Jihoon’s hands. Woojin takes Jihoon’s hand into his, and there’s just something about how Woojin’s fingers slide through the spaces of his own that it makes his heart skip at the action. Perhaps, it’s how they fit so immaculately well with each other, or it’s the way that Woojin’s touch seems to provide a sense of warmth and comfort that he’s never quite felt in his life before.

And Jihoon meets his eyes. He sees the beauty in the sincerity and the intensity of his love and adoration; and Woojin opens his mouth to say the  _ right  _ words this time, “—I really like you.”

I know that there’s something about yourself that you can’t bring yourself to love, but I’ll still love you no matter what happens. Let me be the one to stand by your side. I want to be the one to hold your hand as we learn how to traverse across this world and I want to be able to walk down the thorny path together with you.”

Then, he’s leaning in to press a kiss against the corner of Jihoon’s mouth and Jihoon can’t help but wrap his arms around Woojin’s neck, to bring him forward, to bring him close, to bring his lips against his own.

“You already have a spot next to my heart, stupid,” Jihoon murmurs, and then, Woojin’s pressing his lips against his.

 

—

 

It’s nice to have someone who promises to be by your side no matter what happens, Jihoon comes to realise. Woojin and him settle for weekly movie dates at Jihoon’s apartment, now that finals are over and the winter chill means that it’s too cold for them to be outside. (And Daehwi groans whenever they are cuddling on the couch outside, so he declares that he’s going to Jinyoung-hyung’s house instead—and Jihoon thinks that it’s only an excuse for him to go over.)

Woojin’s been sneezing for the past few days, and he’s still sneezing even after downing some tablets. “Ugh, this cold’s terrible.”

“You okay?” Jihoon frowns, as the pile of tissue-dumplings on the coffee table grows. He wraps the blankets tighter over them, and Jihoon uses it as an excuse for him to curl up around Woojin’s shoulder as the movie starts to play.

“Yeah,” Woojin says but he’s sniffling and reaching out for another piece of tissue. He sneezes once, twice before groaning again. “Ugh, this needs to go away a-s-a-p.”

“Told you that you should never have acted suave and lent me your jacket,” Jihoon teases.

“Yeah, but that means that you’ll be like how I am now, and I rather that  _ not  _ happen.”

It isn’t even the first time that Woojin’s saying words like these that make his heart flutter. Jihoon thinks that he should be getting used to his words, but it’s hard for him to do so— and Woojin  _ always  _ continues to act smug at how his words are still able to have that heart-skipping effect on Jihoon. Damn it.

It’s halfway through the movie when Woojin’s suddenly retching, and he’s running to the toilet to vomit inside of the toilet bowl. Jihoon pauses their movie, before he’s heading into the toilet as well, rubbing gentle circles on his back. 

And there’s siren bells that go off in his head as Woojin’s wiping away  _ mud green _ -coloured vomit from the sides of his mouth. Jihoon knows the smell of vomit from all the times that drunk people have vomited outside their cafe, and he knows that  _ this  _ isn’t the smell of vomit. There’s something familiar about the smell of it, and it reminds him of the charms that Daehwi makes: the earth and herbs. 

Fuck.

Jihoon has a bad feeling about it.

“Hey, Woojin, stay with me, okay?” Jihoon says as Woojin collapses onto the ground, looking paler than he did before. It’s only after Woojin nods and Jihoon brings him to lean against the bathroom wall that Jihoon leaves the room to call Daehwi:

“Daehwi-ah, you have to come back  _ now _ . I think Woojin got magic poisoning.”

  
  
  
  
  


Daehwi rushes back home in record time, and when he steps into the room, he’s hit with the stench of  _ bad  _ magic and poisoning. Jihoon’s been trying to take off the charms that are hanging at almost every corner of the room, and they are piled up in the middle of the coffee table. 

“Daehwi,” Jihoon rushes over to the younger boy, and grabs onto both his hands. He feels like he’s in a complete disarray, that it’s hard for him to explain to Daehwi what happened  _ exactly.  _ Daehwi takes Jihoon’s hands into his own, brings him into a hug, and he’s stroking at the back of Jihoon’s head.

“Hyung, calm down,” Daehwi whispers. “You have to calm down so you can tell me what happened.”

“W-Woojin’s been sick, he’s been sneezing for the past f-few days. We thought that it was a winter cold, but j-just now, as we were watching our movie, he suddenly stood up to run to the washroom and started vomiting.”

Daehwi nods.

“I could tell from the smell of the vomit that it isn’t  _ human- _ related health problems. It smelled like your charms, Daehwi. I think it was magical poisoning. Woojin knocked out though, so I brought him over to my room—”

Then, it hits Daehwi like a truck.

Shit.

This was actually  _ his  _ fault.

“Shit, hyung,” Daehwi says, and he’s pulling away from the hug to steady Jihoon. He knows what went wrong and he knows what he  _ has  _ to do to help Woojin—but there’s a side of it that he knows involve using Jihoon’s powers; and it’s also because it involves Jihoon’s powers, that Daehwi has his reservations.

But there’s also a voice in his head that grounds him to reality, that tells him that it’s something that  _ only  _ Jihoon can do and he  _ must  _ do so that they can save Woojin.

“It’s my fault.”

“W-what do you mean it’s your fault?” There’s nothing but shock in Jihoon’s voice, and his eyes look like they are about to water from the overwhelming situation.

“Remember? I use wolfsbane in my charms for you. We forgot that Woojin-hyung’s a lycanthrope, and wolfsbane is poison to them—so I think that it’s most likely that he got poisoned by the charms.”

An expression of horror washes onto Jihoon’s face, and it’s mixed with guilt and worry. It’s an expression that Daehwi has never quite seen on Jihoon’s face before, and it makes Daehwi’s heart tremble in guilt. 

“And Woojin-hyung’s a half lycanthrope, which is why the effects are probably not as severe,” Daehwi reasons. “We can still do something to help Woojin-hyung.”

“R-really?”

“Yes, really.”

And Daehwi tightens his grips on Jihoon’s hands. But it’s also through this movement that he can feel the way Jihoon’s trembling all over and it makes Daehwi feel  _ really  _ bad.

“Hyung, you have to help him to get all the poison out of his body,” Daehwi explains. He senses the way Jihoon stiffens under his touch as he gets an inkling of what he has to do. “I’ll prepare some medicine to help sooth his pain, but  _ hyung _ , you have to be the one to get it out.”

“And you know what you have to do.”

  
  
  
  
  


There are always parts of life where you are forced to do things that you’re uncomfortable with doing, but you have to do anyway. Jihoon’s sitting at the side of Woojin’s voice, and he has taken away all the charms that limit his powers and shoved them inside one of Daehwi’s trunks of amulets. 

He knows that he has to do it so that he can help Woojin. 

But it’s hard to use a power that you’ve hated so much.

But it’s Woojin. And it’s Woojin, who has only treated him with kindness and trust.

So he thinks of all the times that they have spent together: of the awkward first conversations and sneaky glances, of soft kisses under warm blankets, of how Woojin feels like the flame that has come to melt the icy bands of his loneliness and self-hate. He thinks of how he never knew what it felt like to be loved until he met Woojin, and Jihoon puts in all the magic that he can muster to tell Woojin to “Wake up.”

Woojin does wake up and Jihoon feels guilty at the forcefulness of how Woojin rises on the bed, eyes still cloudy with sickness and sleep. Woojin looks at him drowsily, and he’s rubbing at his eyes, “What happened, Jihoonie?”

But it’s also because Woojin tried to speak that everything that’s forced down is trying to crawl its way upwards like an awful monster. Jihoon already has a pail by his side, so he places it in front of Woojin, gently stroking down his back and he’s singing a song of happiness, of serenity—and he hopes that everything  _ does  _ come out.

  
  
  
  
  


Woojin knocks out again, but there’s something assuring about how the pail is filled with green and Jihoon struggles to carry it out of his room, so that he can dispose of it.

He stares at the rubbish chute even after the plastic has been thrown down. There’s the guilt that’s eating away at him, thoughts of: “If you never got involved with Woojin, this would  _ never  _ have happened.”

But it’s always when he’s at his worst that Daehwi finds him, and he’s hugging him from the side. Jihoon doesn’t quite realise when the tears have started to fall, until his fingers are dabbing at his eyes, while listening to Daehwi say, “Hyung, it’s not your fault, you know.”

“It was my fault for not noticing it earlier,” Daehwi reasons. 

“No, it’s mine. It would never have happened if I didn’t get involved with Woojinnie.”

“Don’t be stupid, hyung,” Daehwi pulls Jihoon over to look straight into Jihoon’s eyes. There’s a sad, yet, tinge of happiness in his eyes as he continues. “Did you not realise that it was the first time that you used your powers to help someone else?”

“Hyung, you have to realise that your powers aren’t  _ all  _ about the bad, about the evil. I know you did something that you didn’t want to do when you were younger. But hyung, you aren’t the same person anymore.”

“You’ve been practicing so hard to keep your powers in check, and whatever happened to Woojin, even though neither of us wanted it to happen to him, it proved another thing—that you  _ are _ capable of controlling your powers, that you  _ can  _ use it for good.”

“Hyung, don’t doubt yourself anymore.”

Daehwi envelopes him in a hug, and Jihoon wonders how can his small frame suddenly feel so big, powerful and all-encompassing?

  
  
  
  
  


Woojin does wake up several hours later, and it’s almost like nothing had happened from the way Woojin cracks jokes after waking up. He’s holding onto Jihoon’s hand as Jihoon feels his eyes watering; from the genuine happiness that Woojin’s awake, and perhaps—a part of him is relieved that he actually did something  _ good  _ with his powers.

“I told you I’ll be here for you, stupid,” Woojin smiles, ruffling Jihoon’s hair as another hand wipes at the tears that are about to fall. 

“I’ll always be here to hold your hand as we walk down the thorny path together,” Woojin continues. “So you better think of ideas of how you can run from me, because I’m never letting you go.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jihoon mumbles in between sniffles. “I’m glad that you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Woojin reassures. “But, are you?”

Jihoon wishes that it’s as easy for him to say that it’s alright. 

But he doesn’t have to say anything, because Woojin’s pulling him into a hug, and he’s stroking at Jihoon’s back and he always has the words whenever Jihoon doesn’t have them.

“It doesn’t have to be okay now, but I’ll always be here until it is.”

 

—

 

It takes time. But Jihoon learns to love himself, to accept himself for who he is. There’s still a part of him that wants to restrain himself, to hang the charms that he’s so used to, around like a safety net; but Woojin pries them away, holds his hand and says, “I’ll be here to catch you.”

Jihoon doesn’t want to be cheesy about it—but having Woojin by his side does make it easier, makes it easier for him to love himself for who he is; and he relishes in the feeling of loving someone else and being loved.

 

— 

 

**(Epilogue:**

"Oh my god, I can't believe you," Jihoon sighs exasperatedly. "It's just Guanlin."    
  
"Mm," Woojin doesn't look up, and continues to hold Jihoon closer—bordering squeezing Jihoon, but it's Woojin—so it's different. It's okay.    
  
They don't say anything but Jihoon feels Woojin's breaths on his neck. He's sniffing at his neck, and Jihoon thinks—Woojin's also giving him soft kittenish licks. It almost feels wrong that he likes the feeling—but it's nice, it's comforting, and part of Jihoon wants more.

They stay in that position for several more moments until they are interrupted by a voice from behind. Jihoon jerks back and pushes Woojin away, and when he turns around, he’s greeted by the sight of  Jisung-hyung.

“You, Park Woojin, I didn’t hire you just so you can continue flirting with Jihoon!” Jisung-hyung yells, pointing the cleaning brush at Woojin’s face.

Woojin smiles sheepishly, and Jihoon sighs. But not even Jihoon is spared from Jisung-hyung because the brush is pointed at him next, and Jisung-hyung adds, “And you—stop giving your boyfriend reasons to be distracted from work!”

Jihoon huffs. “I wasn’t even doing anything! Guanlin just came to get coffee!”

“Do you not see the heart eyes that Guanlin gives you?” Woojin rolls his eyes, pretending to clean off dirt on one of their spotless clean cups.

“But I didn’t ask for them!” Jihoon complains, adding a pout that he knows Woojin can’t resist.

Jisung-hyung just rolls his eyes at them and swats the brush at their direction. “Whatever! I just do not want to see anymore flirting in this house!”

Jihoon whines at how he’s being treated like he did something wrong, even though he didn’t do anything specifically. It’s not his fault that Guanlin likes him, acts like a human puppy and says stuff that’s meant to be heart-fluttering but it doesn’t work when Jihoon actually has a boyfriend. 

Well, maybe, it  _ is  _ partially Jihoon’s fault, because he does add a  _ little  _ charm to his conversations with Guanlin so that Guanlin’s convinced that their coffee has magical properties, and Jihoon can get more tips. 

“I can smell whatever ploys you’re thinking of in your head,” Woojin says, walking over to pinch Jihoon’s cheek.

“Hey!” Jihoon pretends to move to hit Woojin, but Woojin catches his hand and uses the momentum to press a kiss against his cheek,

“See you later when class ends, babe!”

And Woojin’s whisked to the back room while Jihoon huffs because it means that he’ll only get to see Woojin hours later.

But he presses his fingers against his cheek, and his heart feels warm with love.)

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/99izm) if you'd like to die over 2park together, or please also feel free to leave any thoughts that you have on my [CC](https://curiouscat.me/chamwink).


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